Fire and Ice
by CrimsonSuspense
Summary: He'd promised to be there...Meat stuck her hand out for her flowers. She didn't smile. Continues from Sugarfaerie's whiskey and Rye. Strongly recommend reading Moet and Chandons then Whiskey and Rye first. MeatKhashoggi fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Okay. Um. T****his was meant to be a follow up of SugarFaerie's Whiskey and Rye, which was the follow up to Thessaly's Moet and Chandons. I strongly recommend you read them first, or this will make next to no sense. Sorry to Thessaly and Sugarfaerie if you don't like this, let me know if you want me to take it down.**

**CS**

It was one of the stupidest things that Ex-Commander Khashoggi had ever done, and it was for the most unexpected person. However, if you looked at it logically, the Ex-Commander thought to himself, as he trudged through the ankle high grey slush that lined the pavements, Meat had always been there for him. So, just this once, he'd be there for her. He knew she'd be happy. Well, actually, that was a debatable point. Would she be happy with Brit's stand-in? No. He could answer that without thinking about it. However, as he remembered when he'd accused her of agreeing to marry Bob to replace Brit, he remembered something she'd said, that hit him like a blow to the heart. "I'm not the kind of girl who waits around." And she wasn't. But she was His princess, and he'd be there for her. Because, being Khashoggi, he carried round pointless bits of information that often scared young children. The one that he used most was always accompanied with a smirk, and a raise of the eyebrow. "It'll all end up in tears." And, as sure as he knew that Meat loved Vodka (well, best example I could come up with on the spot here, She's a bohemian, isn't she?), he knew that this could only end in tears.

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At the same time Khashoggi was thinking these thoughts, Meat was worried. As Athena, Madonna, and Cheeky Fairy all hustled round her, tying bits of ribbon in her hair and telling her to smile, Meat had second thoughts. And third thoughts. And she decided that even though she wanted it to be true, it wasn't. She knew she wouldn't be able to stay with Bob, love him though she did. Suddenly, Meat went very white, as she remembered something.

"Ah' need ta' check again!" She pushed her bridesmaids away, and they all followed her, looking nervous, as she poked her head round the door, and scanned the crowds of guests hurriedly. He wasn't there. Meat felt like crying, but she had been strictly forbidden to do so, or her make up might run. Shame. He'd promised to be there...

Meat stuck her hand out.

"Flowers."

She didn't smile.

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Khashoggi edged round the large wooden door, and then faltered. The glares of about thirty, very annoyed looking Bohemians hit him. He held his hands up in a peace offering.

"I had an invitation from the bride, you know," He told them, and they backed off slightly. Khashoggi breathed out, and went to find a chair. As he glanced around the room, he caught sight of a couple not too far away. The woman saw him looking, and she scowled, and mouthed a word to him.

"Pervert."

He smirked. Two of this woman's factors (the purple hair and the fact that she'd called him a pervert) told him who it was - Scaramouche. Judging by the small, but beautiful ring on her finger, she was apparently now Scaramouche Figaro.

"Congratulations." He mouthed back.

The woman smirked. She turned around, and tapped a tall blonde man on the shoulder. He turned around and smiled at her, before he noticed who she was pointing to. The man walked over to Khashoggi, after much whispering between him and his wife.

"Hey, Khashoggi," The Dreamer greeted him.

"Hey, Dreamer," The commander replied wearily.

"If you have come to try and convince Meat she doesn't want to marry this guy," Galileo told him shortly, "then you can leave. If she didn't want to, she wouldn't have accepted."

Khashoggi's eyebrow lifted slightly, before he shrugged.

"Fine."

The Dreamer's face showed surprise, perhaps he was expecting Khashoggi to fight back? Khashoggi wasn't going to give him that pleasure. He hadn't come for that - he had come to see Meat. She wouldn't be happy with this. She just needed persuasion.

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Athena turned to Meat, a look of excitement on her face that Meat regrettably found herself insanely jealous of. 'It should be me tha's excited,' she thought to herself, standing up and brushing down her white minidress (come on, she's as much a bohemian as she was when I made the vodka comment) and standing up. Madonna stuck her head out of the side door which lead to the main hall.

"It's time," she grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Come on, everyone's there."

Meat looked up sharply.

"Aye." she said simply, and left the small room with her bridesmaids in tow.

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Khashoggi stood at the back of a crowded hall, which was crammed with people of all ages, with his back against a tall ribbon-festooned pillar. As Bob entered the hall the ceremony was being held in through the main door at the back, the bohemians fell silent. Galileo followed Bob, in a white tux, and a gold bow tie. Khashoggi managed to find a few seconds to wonder where they had managed to find all the bohemians - he was sure there weren't this many in the heartbreak - when a song began to play, and all the people stood up. Khashoggi heard murmurs around, and looked up briefly from his shoes -only to be met with the vision of Meat, gliding down the aisle as though she owned the world.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Ok…so here's the second chapter out of three, hopefully. Enjoy.

Khashoggi had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. He coughed gently, and her head whipped round, and as their eyes met, a tiny tear trickled down her cheek. Nobody except him noticed. She looked away, and brushed at it carefully with her hand.

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Meat couldn't have been more confused than if Killer Queen had just turned up at her wedding, and given her a bouquet of roses. Should she stay, or should she go? The lyrics popped into her head, as they had leapt out of Gaz's mouth when they had been playing snooker. The point was, she had three choices. She could turn around, grab Khashoggi's hand, and they could escape this pointless ceremony, lift one of the bottles of champagne, go back to his flat, and spend the rest of the evening playing poker, drunk, lying next to a warm fire. She could continue up the aisle, and spend the rest of her life in matrimonial chains. On the other hand, she could... actually, scratch that last bit. She had two choices. And Khashoggi was right, Goddammit. She wouldn't be able to cope with married life. Hell, she couldn't stick with a man for more than three months. Apart from Brit. But, Brit was an exception. So...stay or go?

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Khashoggi gazed at the woman he had fallen in love with. He knew her better than anybody. He knew she hated vodka - she only drank it because all the bohemians would reject her if they thought she'd gone soft. He knew that she needed laser corrective surgery, because she needed glasses, but wouldn't wear them. He knew she'd hate being married to this guy, and that she'd be better off with him. So why was he just standing there, watching her walk slowly to her doom? Because he had promised Galileo he wouldn't. And as evil, cruel, and manipulative Khashoggi seemed on the outside, he had never broken a promise to anyone, and he never intended to. So that was why he was here. God, he so wanted to be Bob right now...

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Meat reached the altar, her heart thumping somewhere behind her voice box, so she could barely squeak as she reached Bob and Pop, who had solemnly sworn (well, as solemnly as you can when you're completely off your face) that it was nearly legal for him to perform the ceremony. She turned, and handed her flowers to Scara, who stood behind her.  
"Good luck!" The purple-haired girl grinned, and stepped back with the other two girls. Meat smile back, and turned once more to face Pop and Bob. Never before had they looked so intimidating. She closed her eyes, and opened them again. She couldn't do this. Stepping closely to Bob, she whispered,  
"Ah'm sorry," in his ear, and ran back down the aisle.

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The collective gasp made Khashoggi look up again. He only had a brief moment to wonder what was so astounding, when a hand grasped his, and pulled him out of the door. He smirked. He knew he was right. He was a policeman, after all.

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Meat served him another two cards, and he pulled a face.  
"Bloody fantastic." He lay the fan of cards on the floor, and lay down fully, his head propped on his elbow. "I'm out, then." The Scottish bohemian grinned, and lay down her cards next to the ex-commander's.  
He smirked at her.  
"Am I allowed to say, 'I told you so,' yet, or do I have to wait until we've had another bottle?" He questioned, slightly disturbed at the amount of alcohol they had already managed to consume. Meat lay down next to him, the old borrowed shirt she was wearing covering an indecently small area of her body, with the sleeves rolled down so that they hung loose, allowing only the tips of her fingers to be seen.  
"Nae, ye' can tell me if ye' must." she slurred, yawning, not bothering to hide either. Khashoggi raised an eyebrow at her.  
"Meat, you're off your face, and you need sleep. You have to be up bright and early so you can tell everyone how sorry you are for making them wash - I mean, blowing off the wedding."  
Meat scowled at him.  
"Shoggsy, tha' was horrible." She reprimanded, trailing a finger down his chest. "Of course they wash."  
Khashoggi took a deep breath. He had been denying the chemistry between him and Meat, but it took someone about as drunk as Meat currently was not to see it. This, at the present time, was very, very drunk.  
"Meat..." he trailed off as Meat pressed herself closer against him. Her face was inches away from his. He could smell, and almost taste the 'Moet et Chandon' on her breath. She tried to close the gap between them, but he pushed her away.  
"No." He told her firmly, as she fought his tight hold. "I will not do this while you're drunk. If I do, I'll wake up with bruises, and quite probably broken limbs."  
She held his gaze, unflinchingly.  
"So?"  
Maybe she wasn't as drunk as she was letting him believe.  
But he wasn't taking chances.  
Suddenly, taking him by surprise, she pushed against him, and kissed him hard, forcing him to roll over, so she was lying on top of him. Khashoggi, caught in the moment, held her tightly by the waist and reprociated. It was when her small fingers found the buttons on his shirt, and began to undo them that he pulled away.  
"We can't do this." He told her, holding her wrists tightly. "I'm sorry, Princess, but we can't. I love you, and if you weren't drunk, I would, but you are."  
She squeezed some crocodile tears out of her eyes. Khashoggi ran a hand through his bleached hair exasperatedly.  
"Look, Meat -" But it was too late. Meat had employed the dirtiest trick she knew, one that never failed to get her exactly what she wanted (hence the nickname princess, if you read One Flash Of Light) - puppy dog eyes. She blinked slowly, not breaking eye contact, revelling in the defeated look on the commander's face. She knew she'd won.  
"Hell, you win." He muttered, causing a happy smirk to appear on the lips of the drunk girl he held in his arms. He pulled her closer to him, and kissed her nose. "But you tell anyone...Scaramouche would castrate me."

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Next morning, Meat had never been happier that Madonna had taught all the girls how to use crocodile tears. Khashoggi's hand removed itself somewhat lazily from her lower back, where it had been resting for the last 10 minutes, and Meat, content with the world, closed her eyes again, until Khashoggi muttered,  
"You awake, Brat?", and she admitted defeat.  
"Yeah," she yawned. Suddenly, her stomach lurched, and she remembered with a particularly nasty jolt just how much alcohol she had drunk the previous night.  
"Um...Shoggs?"  
"Yes, Princess?"  
Meat pulled at a dreadlock in apparent embarrassment.  
"Um...where's th' loo?" she muttered quickly. Khashoggi sat up, and pulled her up with him.  
"You lightweight," He teased her.  
Meat closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Khashoggi noticed this, and pointed.  
"Out of that door, and second door on the left." He told her, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.  
"Take a shower if you want." He called after her, as she disappeared out of the door at a run, one hand over her mouth.

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	3. Chapter 3

AN: This one's for Haylz, aka sundrynotes, coz she asked nicely, BlueBohemian, whom I adore the oneshots of, and Thessaly, because... well, we'll say Thessaly is my inspiriation for most of the stuff I write. Oh, and Alicia, who kept nudging me until i wrote this. Um, enjoy. And review.

xxx

CS

Happy Endings.

Meat was vaguely aware of someone holding back her dreds and stroking her back gently. When she had finished being sick, she hugged her knees tightly, shivering. Khashoggi pulled her into a hug, and she snuggled up to him.

"Hey, Princess, come to bed. You've got one hell of a hangover." Khashoggi commented, standing up. Meat refused, muttering something. Khashoggi raised an eyebrow, and bent down to lift her. He was surprised – she felt too light, fragile, like a baby bird, and held her accordingly.

"Put me down…" She mumbled, sliding her arms round his neck, and hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

"Now now, Princess, that's being hypocritical." He told her, seriously, as he carried her into a room that she hadn't yet seen. She pulled away from him, and gave him a questioning glance.

"I don't always sleep in the living room, Darling," He drawled, and she smiled weakly, resting her head against his shoulder again.

When he reached the side of the navy blue sheeted double bed at the back of the room, he dropped her carefully onto it, provoking a squeal from the bohemian. He pulled the duvet over her, and sat down next to her, stroking her hair, and smiling as her eyes fluttered shut, and she let out a small, contented sigh.

"You want some painkillers, Baby?" He asked softly, and she mumbled something that he could roughly translate as a 'yes'. Standing up, he stretched slightly, and made to leave the room.

"Back in a minute. If you feel sick again, there's a bin in the corner. "

Meat managed a thumbs up over the top of the cover, and he smiled. Entering the small kitchen, he took a glass off the draining board, and filled it with water, before opening a cupboard, and beginning a hunt for a packet of paracetamol he was sure had been there last week. He had just taken out a likely looking box, and was about to open it when the doorbell rung. Khashoggi sighed. He'd been expecting it, and was slightly irked at the fact that they couldn't wait until a respectable hour of the morning – say, eleven, at least – and called,

"I'll get it, Princess."

Upon opening the door, he found Scaramouche, looking although she was about to kill something, Galileo, who looked grumpy, tired, and slightly apologetic, and Bob, who looked only slightly less frightening than Scaramouche. He surveyed them politely, but with an air of one who didn't desperately want to be disturbed at the present moment in time.

"Hello, Pervert, tell me where my best friend is or I will castrate you." Scaramouche told him furiously, fists clenched.

"Ah'm here…" Came a tired voice from the corridor behind Khashoggi. Scaramouche, whom Khashoggi was now coming to resent the presence of, pushed past him, into _his _flat, and hugged Meat tightly, while giving him a death glare. One that he was overly accustomed to. He sighed, and turned back to Galileo.

"So," He started. "How's married life?" He swore he saw Bob flinch. Galileo must have notices too, because he shrugged, and muttered,

"Not bad."

"KHASHOGGI!!!"

He turned to see a fuming Scaramouche storming up to him.

"Mrs Figaro."

"Just how fucking much did you let her drink last night?"

Khashoggi raised an disbelieving eyebrow.

"Let her drink?" He repeated incredulously. "My permission for her to get pissed out of her skull would mean absolutely nothing. Jesus Christ, you're talking like I have some kind of control over her!"

"Aye, Scara, donnae be blamen' 'im." Came a Scottish blur from behind Scaramouche. Meat shuffled up to Khashoggi (who noticed that she had borrowed his dressing gown) and rested her head on his shoulder. He put an arm round her shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Bob's mouth fell open. So did Scaramouche's, somewhat predictably. Galileo rolled his eyes, and muttered something that sounded like, "Finally!" Khashoggi stared at him.

"Excuse me. What did you just say?"

"Well, if you two get together," Galileo paused to grin at Scaramouche, who looked like she was about to spontaneously combust out of pure anger. "I get… well, I win the bet."

'If looks could kill,' thought Meat, wryly, 'Gazz donnae stand a chance.'

"Anyway…" Khashoggi turned back to Galileo, still holding Meat tightly. "Are you here for any particularly important reason, or did your wife just want to yell at me?"

"I'm leaving. Meat, I hope you're happy." Bob announced, and turned swiftly to leave, but Meat grabbed the back of his coat, and pulled him back.

"Bob ah'm sorry. But it wouldn't have worked. We wouldn't 'ave been happy."

He managed a small smile, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "No, Babe, you're right. We were the closest thing we had to our best friend. And..." He couldn't say any more, but she understood, and hugged him. They stayed like that for a while, until someone cleared their throat, and Meat remembered that she was only wearing a dressing gown.

"Um. Yeah. Guys, we should probably be going..." Galileo turned to Scara and Bob. Scara muttered something that Meat and Khashoggi, sheltering in the doorway of his flat, didn't hear. Galileo nodded, and he and Bob started their way down the steps. Scara took a deep breath, and walked up to Khashoggi, and had to lean back to meet his eyes. Meat smirked. Scara glared at her, and then looked back at Khashoggi.

"Look, I don't trust you that much. You know that, right? But I know you well enough to know that... you'll look after her. And so help me, if you don't, and she ends up hurt, I will hurt you. Hard. And a lot. Understood?"

Khashoggi nodded, his face completely serious.

"Understood. Um... thanks."

Scara and Meat hugged, and Scara whispered something to Meat that Khashoggi didn't hear. He was not getting used to this. Meat giggles, glanced at Khashoggi with an appreciative grin, and nodded. This, for some reason, caused both the girls to giggle. Again. Khashoggi sighed, and took a step towards the pair.

"Well, I'll leave you two to whatever you were... doing." Scara smirked, folding her eyes. Khashoggi looked at Scaramouche sceptically, and raised an eyebrow.

"Does she mean kneeling on the bathroom floor while you throw up?" He asked Meat. She rolled her eyes, and slid an arm round his waist.

"Shut up, you. Scara, we'll see you... whenever. Okay?"

Scara nodded, and risked sticking her tongue out at the Commander. He noticed, and stuck his tongue out back at her. Scara saw, and laughed. Meat didn't, and looked between her lover and her friend confusedly.

"Come on, Princess, you'll get frostbite." Khashoggi ordered, and waved to Scara, who had seemingly decided to leave, and was walking down the stone steps at the end of the pathway.

"Bye, Hen!" Meat yelled, then turned to face Khashoggi. "Well. Looks like we got rid of them."

"For now, at least," he replied, then looked down at her. "So. What do we do now that we've got the blessing of the Figaro's... and hangers on?"

Meat slid her arms round his neck, and pulled him back inside the flat, grinning cheekily. Kissing his neck, she whispered softly, "It'll come to you..."

In the tour bus. (Had to say that so you'll know where I got the upstairs from.)

Scaramouche looked at Bob, and patted his shoulder.

"Hey, it's ok."

Looking up, he nodded, and smiled. "They'll be happy."

"They'll annoy the hell out of each other." She corrected, and small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Bob laughed.

"They go together - but they don't. You know? Like two things that go together, but they're completely different."

"Moet and Chandon." Galileo supplied from the front seat, not taking his eyes off the road..

"Whiskey and Rye." Pop slurred from behind Scara.

"Fire and ice?" Bowie's voice came from upstairs. "I dunno, Fairy...they don't really fit, you know?"

"No way, Bowzie! Course they fit!" Came Cheeky Fairy's indignant response. "You just have to look twice, and look close enough, and you'll see it..."

The voices faded, and we zoom out. We see times, places, that don't really exist, but might be other people's world. And maybe, if we look twice, and we know where to look, and we look closely enough, then maybe we'll see them.

-x-

Le fin.


End file.
